House of Shadows

by Rachel Neumeier

  His brother, the man who had mentioned the candlelight district, aimed a mock blow at him, which Koriadde blithely ignored. He continued, “Allow me to make known to you these others of this gathering: Jerinte Naliadde ken Miches—” He indicated the third of the young men, the aggressive one who thought all lands belonged to Lirionne. “And this is Jeres Geliadde, the prince’s foremost bodyguard, and Liedde Masienne ken Lochelle, his tutor. Miennes informs us you are acquainted with Mage Ankennes, who is pleased to do small favors for the flowers of Lonne.”

  Taudde bowed gravely to them all. “Most often I am known as Taudde. ‘Chontas’ is a very common name in the south. There are five other scions of my house named Chontas, which I fear leads to some confusion. I am,” he added, lying blandly now that he had laced sufficient truth through his lies, “as perhaps Lord Miennes has informed you, traveling on behalf of my uncle’s interests. As I seem likely to spend this winter in Lonne, I hope I will have every opportunity to witness firsthand the beauty of Lonne’s famous flower world, of which I have heard tales all my life.”

  There was a general murmur of gratification. The heir himself looked mildly amused. “So, though you have traveled a good deal, you have nowhere else encountered a custom comparable to our flower world?”

  Taudde heard in this query, which indeed everyone quieted to hear, a faint undertone of mockery. He answered seriously, “I have not, eminence. Not in Miskiannes nor Enescedd nor even in southern Lirionne, where I lived for a time several years ago. I suppose only the wealth and age of Lonne is able to support such a custom.”

  “We say in Lonne that we are simply accustomed to appreciate beauty.”

  There was, Taudde thought, definitely a trace of mockery in the prince’s voice… but he almost thought it was self-mockery. He was surprised. He had not expected, well, depth, from the Dragon’s heir. But there were undertones layered all through the young man’s voice, and not all of them suggested simple hauteur. Taudde wanted to make the prince speak again and listen to those undertones. But Prince Tepres did not seem much given to casual talk.

  “Surely you do not spend all your time making ornaments for the keiso, however,” Taudde said to Mage Ankennes, to fill the pause. “There are no mages in Miskiannes, you are aware. Lord Jerinte is right to say that Miskiannes is a country of tradesmen. I would add, it is a land of farmers and country gentlemen. Perhaps we have less need of magic there.”

  “The land itself contains less magic,” the mage said, smiling. To a bardic sorcerer, his tone contained suggestions of fraught acquaintance, but less-trained men would hear nothing. Taudde noted the mage’s smooth deceptiveness for future reference. “For powerful magic, one cannot do better than the wild heights or the wilder sea.”

  “Then Lonne is ideally situated,” Taudde observed. “And yet I should not have thought either the mountains or the sea would yield amiably to the will of men, even mages. What is it you call that great mountain of yours? Kerre Maraddras?”

  “The Heart of Darkness,” said the mage. “Yes.” There was an odd note to his tone; Taudde wasn’t quite able to decipher the undertone. “Kerre Maraddras is strong, but difficult,” the mage went on. “Its darkness lies very close to Lonne. But then, darkness always lies behind all that mages do, ready to engulf and ruin our works. Yet, is that any less true of the ordinary works of men than of magic?”

  “A grim view,” protested Koriadde.

  “Not at all—it was well said!” exclaimed the prince’s tutor. “Indeed, the sweep of history clearly shows us how eager men are to tear down what their own ancestors before them built with such effort.”

  There was a slight pause as everyone avoided looking at Prince Tepres. However, if the prince connected this comment with the recent deaths of his brothers, there was no sign of it. Even in Kalches, everyone knew that tale of rebellion and suspected usurpation, of treachery and death. But the prince merely leaned his chin on his palm. His eyes had narrowed a little, but he listened with no sign of disapproval.

  It occurred to Taudde that the young heir was by no means unacquainted with death and grief. He wondered if this might go some way, perhaps, toward explaining the prince’s surprising desire to pursue peace rather than victory.

  When he had heard the tale of the elder princes’ executions, Taudde had felt only righteous outrage and horror against their father. Now he was forced to think of Prince Tepres as well. This was not comfortable. He ate a bite of creamed leeks, grimly.

  “Ordinary men seldom think of what they do in those terms, I suspect,” Ankennes answered the prince’s tutor. “I believe the exigencies of magecraft are more clearly evident. At least, men who are not mages seldom appear to see the darkness hiding behind their actions until it is very late in the day—too late, indeed, to remedy even the most grievous error.” But, as the third course was brought in, the mage smiled and turned to welcome it, dismissing this bleak observation.

  The course consisted of a whole fish stuffed with bread crumbs and minced vegetables, its scales replaced with parchment-thin slices of white radish. Miennes greeted the murmurs of approval with a deprecating wave of his hand and the information that his kitchens were run by a woman who had been a keiso in her youth and had then managed a restaurant for several years.

  “Oh—that would be Disanna, who was Starlily and then owned the Crested Dragon,” said Koriadde in startled recognition. “She is a friend of my mother’s—I had heard that she had taken private employ! I hope for your sake you are paying her a very generous wage, my lord, as otherwise I shall feel tempted to hire her away from you and I surely cannot afford such a lavish expense.”

  Miennes assured the young man he was paying the woman very generously, at which Koriadde pretended to be extravagantly disappointed.

  “A friend of your mother’s?” Taudde asked, before he could quite prevent himself. It did not, however, appear to be a difficult topic, for Koriadde seemed perfectly comfortable.

  “My mother is keiso, of course,” he said, and his brother Kemes—half-brother, Taudde now realized—leaned over and said something to him in a low voice that made Koriadde laugh.

  Prince Tepres had said nothing through any of this. But Taudde caught a faintly wistful look in his dark eyes and wondered whether possibly the heir of Lirionne sometimes wished that he, like his surviving brothers and like Koriadde, was keiso-bred rather than a legitimate son of his father. That was another uncomfortable thought. Taudde tried not to grimace. He did not want to like, or approve of, and certainly not pity the prince. Especially as he had no doubt Miennes meant to use him as a weapon against the young heir.

  But it was better not to think about such possibilities. Not just now. Not when he needed to pay attention to the present moment. The future would hold what it held. For this moment, Taudde set to studying and deliberately courting the company. He didn’t dare use even the merest trace of sorcery, but he didn’t scruple to use all his bard’s tricks of tone and attitude; this was a courtship at which he meant to succeed.

  Of the men his own age, Koriadde was the friendliest, and his brother Kemes also easy-natured. The prince himself spoke seldom, and yet Taudde suspected he might be courted through his friends and be inclined to favor someone whom Koriadde liked. Taudde rather suspected Koriadde was probably more discerning and a good deal less casual than his easy manner suggested.

  “I have,” Taudde said at last, over a course of mussels and the finest Enescene black rice, “lived in Lonne for some weeks now, and yet I have not visited the candlelight district in all that time. All this talk has made it clear to me that I must repair this oversight. I have heard mentioned the name of Cloisonné House as perhaps the finest of all the Houses of the flower world. Perhaps some of you would do me the kindness to accompany me there as my guests?”

  Only a foreigner, Taudde suspected, would have had the presumption to thus issue an invitation to the heir himself and his companions. The young men might have accepted easily if they had been alon
e; now they all looked, cautiously, to their prince.

  The heir of Lirionne leaned an elbow on the table and studied Taudde, evidently bemused. Jeres, on his right, touched his arm and murmured to him. Whatever he said, the prince dismissed it with a small gesture and a frown.

  Taudde, shamelessly trading on his foreign status, said, “Eminence, if I have offended, I can only plead unfamiliarity with the customs of Lonne and ask forgiveness.”

  “We are not offended,” the prince said at once. “Indeed… I am even inclined to accept your generous invitation.” He slid a glance toward his bodyguard, met Jeres’s scowl, and half smiled. “Perhaps as early as the evening after next, if that should please you. You might make the reservation in your own name. You might perhaps fail to mention mine.”

  Taudde, judging that the prince did not care for a fulsome show, acceded to this suggestion with restrained gratification.

  Mage Ankennes, naturally, declared that he would certainly attend. The tutor begged to be excused on the grounds of a prior engagement. Jeres Geliadde scowled and said nothing, but once the prince had granted his approval, his young companions all seemed genuinely pleased by the plan.

  Miennes gave Taudde a look of heavy satisfaction. Later, when the gathering dispersed, he held Taudde back with a glance. Mage Ankennes, too, lingered while the younger men and the prince’s tutor departed. “You understand what you are to do? You have sufficient skill?” Miennes said to Taudde once they were safely away. “I fear it will not be easy. The heir does not trust lightly.”

  Taudde inclined his head in acknowledgment. “His trust, fortunately, is not specifically required for his death by sorcery. I presume that is what you want from me?” He waited, curious to see whether Miennes, consummate courtier that he undoubtedly was, would be willing to confirm so bald a statement.

  The Lonne lord in fact hesitated. But Mage Ankennes said, unsmiling, “Of course. You are young, but surely your… uncle… would not have sent an incapable man to Lonne on his behalf. You are indeed capable?”

  Taudde looked at the mage with dislike. He answered deliberately, “Despite my youth, you may accept my assurance that I am not unskilled. My grandfather began teaching me bardic sorcery hardly later than my grandmother began teaching me to talk.” This was true, but Taudde meant the strong undertones of arrogance he laid beneath his words to disguise the extent of that truth. He thought this strategy worked to deceive Miennes, but Ankennes… he thought Ankennes might have heard the truth Taudde had meant to conceal. Taudde saw the covetousness behind the mage’s opaque eyes. He would not allow himself to flinch, but he had to suppress a shudder.

  “Well, skill and strength are exactly what one would expect in a young man sent here in this season,” Miennes said, slyly pleased. “And was our aim indeed your own, first? You must have had some such aim, I should think, to enter Lonne on the eve of the coming solstice.”

  “It was not,” Taudde said, and continued smoothly, “Though I should hardly object to your immediate goal, to be sure. I might wonder what purpose you have, however, in sowing confusion and disorder in Lonne… on the very eve, as you say, of the solstice.”

  Lord Miennes only smiled. “My young friend, you needn’t concern yourself with our motives. I assure you, they are sufficient.”

  Taudde inclined his head. He wondered whether Miennes might be so close to the throne he thought he might seize power himself. More likely he was closely attached to one of the left-hand princes. Or possibly Lord Miennes meant to sow disorder in order to quell it and thus gain the favor of the people, or the king, or both. He might be inclined toward such subtle maneuvers.

  Taudde certainly assumed the lord meant to use the heir’s death, in one way or another, to gain power in Lonne. What Mage Ankennes hoped to gain was much less clear. His goal seemed unlikely to be simple political power.

  He said, keeping his tone calm and flat, “Well, I care little enough, to be sure, and I must confess that your goal pleases me. Save, of course, that it seems quite likely you mean to use me to lay the blame for the prince’s death on Kalches. I am not so certain that pleases me.”

  “Indeed, you mistake us!” Miennes exclaimed. His smile widened. “No, no, my friend! Far better if no one knows the manner in which the prince comes to his, ah, fate. Indeed, far better!”

  Taudde, looking steadily at Mage Ankennes, made a noncommittal sound. He already guessed that Miennes wanted to keep his new pet bardic sorcerer for future use, not spend him all at once. But he wanted the mage to speak. Almost anything would do: a protest, a reassurance, even a threat. It was the deep-buried undertones of his voice Taudde wanted to hear. He doubted even an accomplished mage of Lonne would understand how his voice might reveal deceit and offer hints of his true intentions.

  “We do not wish to prompt a wide outcry,” said the mage, responding to Taudde’s silent pressure. “Nor to encourage violent reprisals against anyone. We wish merely to end the dominance of the Seriantes line. The quiet death of the Dragon’s last remaining legitimate son should achieve this aim. What replaces Seriantes power hardly seems your concern.”

  “Save that, I assure you, young man, we have no interest in furious acquisitions to the north!” Lord Miennes added. “A waste of gold and blood and time, all far better invested elsewhere! Indeed, the attitudes of Miskiannes have much to recommend them!”

  Taudde inclined his head as though reassured. In fact, though he thought Lord Miennes meant what he said, he was almost certain that Mage Ankennes… Well, he did not precisely suspect Ankennes of outright lying. But an underlying hard resolve beneath the mage’s words made him wonder whether, when Ankennes said end the dominance of the Seriantes line, he really meant destroy every root and branch of the Seriantes line. And that implied a hatred that went beyond what even Taudde felt for the Seriantes Dragons. Except he could hear no such depths of hatred in the mage’s voice. But what save deep loathing could lead to such a broad and brutal goal?

  But he did not have time or leisure to consider that question now. He said, in a neutral tone, addressing both men, “If I do this for you, I will be free to go about my own business? You understand, I will not under any compulsion stay in Lonne beyond the solstice.”

  “Of course. I—we—should never expect that of you,” Miennes assured him, deceit so clear in his voice that he might have simply said out loud, No, you are mine, I will never release you from my hand. “You are perfectly correct. You did very well, setting up that engagement of yours to follow this one,” the lord concluded. “Very clever.” He patted Taudde on the arm, a possessive gesture that made Taudde set his teeth. If he noticed Taudde’s distaste, it didn’t trouble him. He went on smoothly, “I presumed even the heir himself might find himself vulnerable to a man of your… heritage and training. I surmise I was correct.”

  Taudde nodded. The Dragon’s heir indeed seemed vulnerable to a creative sorcerer, a vulnerability that was one reason for the Seriantes ban against bardic sorcerers. However—“The ban,” he began.

  “You need not concern yourself with the ban,” Ankennes murmured in his deep voice. “I will craft a protection about you and above you. Other mages of Lonne will find it far more difficult to perceive your workings than would ordinarily be the case. You understand?”

  “Certainly that will make this task far more straightforward,” Taudde murmured. “I thank you for your shield. Ah—difficult, you say. But, I surmise, not—”

  The mage smiled, an expression both amused and cold. “Not wholly impossible, no. I recommend a continuing discretion.”

  Taudde inclined his head. So Mage Ankennes would set protections round about to ensure that he’d be able to do the sorcery they required. No doubt the mage would take other precautions to see to it, and to prevent his escape afterward. But the conspirators were sure he would do their murder, first. A Kalchesene bardic sorcerer? Of course they were sure. The heir’s death would leave the Dragon himself without legitimate sons… grieving, if Geriodde Ner
enne ken Seriantes was actually capable of grief, which Taudde personally doubted, given what he had done to his own elder sons. But even so, the death of his last remaining heir would unquestionably deliver a devastating blow to the King of Lirionne. Taudde could hardly accustom himself to the idea that he himself could be the one to deliver such a blow to the Seriantes Dragon. It was a vengeance he had never looked to gain, and it had not merely fallen into his path but had been forced into his hands.

  He said slowly, “I will do this.” He said it with conviction, though he had not yet actually decided whether he would do it or not. But already he had an idea of how he could do it. And he truly thought he might, the treaty and his vow to his grandfather notwithstanding. Could he truly claim these conspirators had forced him to break the treaty and that vow? Or would he act, if he did, simply because he chose to, for himself and for Kalches? He felt a little ill with the uncertainty.

  Satisfied, unaware either of the deceit or of the confusion, Miennes gave Mage Ankennes a sideways glance and then nodded to Taudde. “I am confident we all understand one another.” He lifted a hand, adding, “Allow me to escort you to your conveyance, my young friend.”

  Taudde’s carriage waited merely a dozen steps down the drive. The wind came gently from the sea and over the city, carrying the scents of salt and sand and the myriad close smells of the city. It ruffled the horse’s white mane. The moon shone palely overhead, muted by the greenish magelight that illuminated the city.

  Taudde stepped into the carriage, settled into its well-cushioned seat, tipped his head back, and closed his eyes. He longed for the midnight skies of Kalches, where in the winter the brilliant darkness of the sky came so close to the endless snow that each star sounded a clear and separate note on the theme of the night. He almost told Benne to drive on, along the Kemsennes River and up into the mountains that framed the city. There in the heights, the stars would at last become visible.